


Unguarded Secrets

by adrianna_m_scovill



Series: Create Your Own Context [8]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Anesthesia, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 20:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18240011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Don't ask questions like "why would she be sitting beside him when he comes out of anesthesia" or "what kind of test was he having done" or any of those troublesome details, just try to roll with it ;)





	Unguarded Secrets

Benson was flipping through an old, ripped magazine, barely seeing the articles. Her eyes were burning; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten a decent night’s sleep, and now, sitting beside the hospital bed, waiting for Barba to come out of his anesthesia, it was all she could do to keep her eyes open. She glanced over his recovery bed with a touch of envy. Maybe she should ask the doctor for a little bit of whatever Barba—

He made a sound, jerking awake in the bed, startling her. His eyes flew open, scanning the room as his head turned, and his confused gaze landed on her face. Before she could say anything to reassure him, he spoke in a rush: “I’m so sorry, you know I would never try to see you naked without your permission, it was an accident.”

“I—What?” she asked, caught completely off guard.

He suddenly scrunched his eyes shut and made an alarming keening sound, and she leaned forward in her chair, reaching for his arm.

“It’s this damned x-ray vision, I can’t control it,” he moaned, lifting his arm before she could touch him. He slapped his hand over his closed eyes.

“What are you—Open your eyes, Barba.”

“I can’t.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“I’m not in my apartment anymore? Oh God, did I teleport again?”

“I need you to calm down,” she said. “You’re alright, nothing’s wrong, you’re just coming out—”

“I didn’t want this, I just want a normal life where we can get married and get old. And I meant what I said, I don’t care about being sterile, we could adopt brothers and sisters for Noah or just have him. But now I’ve screwed everything up.”

“What…the…” She glanced toward the door, wondering if she should call for a nurse. She knew disorientation was to be expected, though, so she tried to ignore the nervous fluttering in her stomach. It didn’t matter _what_ he was saying, because he was confused, and he probably— _hopefully_ , to save him the embarrassment—wouldn’t remember later.

“But I swear I don’t want to be immortal—”

“Rafael,” she said, a little sharper than she intended. “Listen to me. Are you listening?”

He’d fallen silent. He drew a breath and said, in a small voice, “Yes.”

She looked at him. He was braced, she realized, expecting to be chastised for...something. “You’re fine,” she said, gentling her tone. “You’re in the recovery room coming out of sedation.”

“Radiation?”

“ _Sedation_. You had a test—”

“But the radiation from before? And the...the powers?”

“Whatever you think happened, you’re just a little bit confused from the anesthesia, okay?” He didn’t answer. “Trust me, alright? Look at me.”

After a moment he lowered his hand an inch, peeking cautiously over his fingers with squinted eyes. He glanced around the room quickly, then back at her face. His confusion was palpable. “I hit my head on the wall,” he said, the words laced with uncertainty.

She started to shake her head and changed her mind. Maybe it would help to talk him through whatever his thought processes were. “When was that?” she asked.

“When I...when I couldn’t control the...x-ray vision…” he said, his gaze slipping involuntarily down to her chest before his eyelids fluttered closed. He drew a breath, flaring his nostrils, and gave his head a small shake. “I tried to stop it.”

“That’s not how x-ray vision works,” she said before she could stop herself; it was suddenly taking all of her willpower not to laugh. Laughing would be inexcusable. He was upset, confused—but was he really saying he’d used x-ray vision to see through her clothes and then hit his head against the wall to stop himself?

“Huh?” He looked at her again, his forehead creased, his eyes full of worry, and her heart went out to him.

“You said something about radiation?”

“After the explosion. They said I would be sterile but they didn’t say anything about the _powers_.”

“Like the x-ray vision and the teleporting.”

His eyes darted around the room and back to her face. “And immortality,” he whispered. “But I didn’t want that, I don’t want to live forever without—”

“Hey,” she said, cutting him off because she suddenly knew without a doubt what he was about to say. She couldn’t allow him to say it, he wasn’t in his right mind; she had to protect him from himself.

 _You sure you’re not protecting yourself?_ an unfriendly voice whispered in her head.

He’d fallen obediently silent and was watching her.

“You’re not immortal, and you don’t have any other superpowers,” she said. She couldn’t believe the words were actually leaving her mouth, but the sincerity in his expression convinced her they needed to be spoken. “You’re just coming out of anesthesia, that’s all. Everything will start to make sense in a little while. I’m going to take you home as soon as they say you can leave, and I’ll get the nurse to help you get dressed.”

“I’m not dressed?” he asked, looking down at himself.

“You’re in a gown.”

“A ball gown?”

“No.”

“I like dancing.”

“Do you?” she asked, surprised.

“Do you?”

“Sometimes,” she said. “Stay right there while I get the nurse, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed.

 

*       *       *

 

He’d been talking nearly nonstop—during the whole meandering walk to the car, and the whole ride so far. Most of what he was saying—thankfully—didn’t require any response from her. He’d discovered, after overhearing a partial conversation on their way out of the hospital, that he could speak Spanish. Ever since, he’d been—as far as Benson could tell—reciting Shakespeare in Spanish.

Except for his sudden proclamation that he was too hot— _way, way too hot_ —as he’d abruptly begun clawing at his shirt collar with one hand and batting at the window control with his other. She’d lowered his window for him, watching to make sure he didn’t try to hang his head out like a dog. He seemed content with the wind swirling into the car; he’d closed his eyes, breathed a sigh of relief, and thanked her before returning to his recitation.

She was fighting her urge to ask him to _please_ shut the hell up for thirty seconds. She couldn’t do it; he seemed so happy, completely unaware of her rising blood pressure or the pounding in her head or how ridiculously annoying he was being.

She pulled into a gas station. She could’ve waited until later, but she needed to get out of the car for a few minutes.

“Order me a milkshake.”

“This isn’t a drive-through,” she answered as she shut off the car.

“What is it?”

“A gas pump. I’ll just be a—”

“I want a milkshake.”

“Well,” she said, doing her best to keep the irritation from her voice, “you can’t have one.”

“ _Please_? It’ll make me feel better,” he whined.

“Stop pouting,” she said. “You literally can’t have one. The doctor—” She broke off abruptly at the sight of tears shimmering in his eyes.

“Please don’t yell at me,” he said.

“I’m not yelling,” she answered, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Raf, but you really can’t have anything to eat right now. It could make you sick. Once we’re back at your apartment and you start to feel better…”

He sniffed. “Okay,” he said, turning his face to look out his open window.

She suppressed a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment. She knew this wasn’t his fault, and he would be horrified if he remembered his behavior later, but that didn’t help the thudding in her temples or her overwhelming crankiness. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

His head turned toward her. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m going to pump gas and run inside for a minute to get something—”

“What?”

“—and I’ll be right back. Your window’s open so you won’t get too hot.” She opened the door and swung herself out before he could object. He called her name as she closed the door. “I’m right here,” she said, glancing into the car as she unscrewed the gas cap. He was hunched down, leaned toward her seat so he could see her.

She wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry, but she offered him a smile that she hoped was more reassuring than it felt. He looked down and fumbled with the seatbelt buckle, trying to unfasten it—presumably so he could stretch himself over her seat. She did laugh a little at that thought.

She’d already finished pumping gas by the time he managed to free himself, and he craned his head to watch her walk behind the car.

“Liv,” he called out his window as she started toward the station. “Liv, Livvie-Liv-Liv.” She’d already turned back and was looking at him, but he didn’t immediately notice. He was tugging on the door handle, scowling at his inability to make the door open. He looked at the lock button beside the open window and plucked at it with his fingers, trying to pull it up.

She ignored the stab of guilt she felt for locking him into the car; it was for his own safety. She couldn’t risk him getting out and wandering in traffic or something. Besides, she was only going to be gone for a minute.

“Rafael,” she said. He looked up at her, his whole face screwed up in concentration, and she felt like an asshole.

“I can’t open this,” he said.

“No, honey, it’s locked,” she answered, barely aware of the endearment slipping from her tongue.

“Oh. But I—Do you want me to come with you?”

“You’re too tired, and I’ll just be a minute.”

“I need ice cream.”

“You don’t.”

“I do, I _promise_ I do,” he insisted, reaching an arm out the window toward her.

“I’m sure you have some at home for later.”

“I don’t.”

“You probably do,” she countered.

“ _I don’t think I do_ ,” he answered in a high singsong voice that made her laugh in spite of her frustration.

“Fine. I’ll get you some ice cream. For _later_. Stay here and I’ll be right back.”

“Chocolate with the little—”

“I know what kind of ice cream you like,” she said, turning away.

“Oh,” he answered. “Okay.”

She cursed herself _again_ for her lack of patience as she hurried into the store. She needed something for her headache and she was out of Tylenol in her purse—but a headache and a little sleep deprivation were no excuse for being short with Barba when he wasn’t being deliberately annoying.

She ducked into the store and glanced back at the car. Barba waved and she offered a quick wave in return, muttering under her breath. She hurried down an aisle and grabbed a bottle of acetaminophen before striding toward the freezer case. She surveyed the small selection of ice cream flavors. There wasn’t a single carton of chocolate in sight.

She grabbed a container of mint chocolate chip. It would have to be good enough. She turned and made her way toward the register, grabbing an after-dinner candy bar as a surprise for Noah. She glanced out the window as she handed her card to the cashier.

Barba wasn’t in the car, unless he was lying down. Her stomach lurched and she took a step toward the door, sweeping her gaze over what she could see of the lot and street.

“Liv.”

She whirled, startled by the voice behind her. “What the—How did you—”

“I fell out the window,” he said.

“You...fell…” She took a breath to calm her racing heart. “Why the hell were you—”

“You left me alone,” he said, sounding grievously injured by the fact that she’d left him sitting in the car.

“I cracked a window,” she answered before she could stop herself.

He frowned at her. “I’m not a cat.”

“You mean _dog_.”

“You’re being mean,” he informed her.

“Well, no one leaves a _cat_ in the car with a window down,” she snapped. “Anyway, why didn’t you just wait there like I asked?”

“I couldn’t see you anymore.”

She looked at him—his uncharacteristically messy hair, his big green eyes, his puffy cheeks, his trembling lip. The man looked a breath away from crying, and she felt a fresh wave of guilt. She rubbed at her temple. “Okay. Okay, I’m sorry. Are you hurt?” she asked, giving him a once-over.

“I don’t wanna be.”

“You’re bleeding,” she said, catching sight of the red-stained tear at the side of his elbow.

“I hope not,” he answered, struggling to turn his arm to see. “I pass out when I see my own blood.”

“No, you don’t,” she said automatically, fervently hoping he wasn’t about to faint.

“I don’t? Oh.”

“No, you’re all good, Barba. It’s just a scrape, we’ll clean it up at home. Just look at my face, instead,” she added, because he’d turned himself in a half-circle trying to see the side of his arm.

“Okay,” he answered, lifting his gaze and turning back toward her. “I like looking at your face. Sometimes I try to do it when you don’t know, but you usually know anyway.”

The cashier snorted. Barba didn’t seem to notice. Benson took her card back and snatched up the ice cream bag. “He on something good?” the man behind the counter asked.

“Thank you,” she answered with a withering look before taking Barba’s uninjured elbow in her free hand. “Come on,” she told her friend, leading him outside and across to her car. “No, no,” she said when Barba bent down and tried to stick his head through the open window. “Here, I’m unlocking the door.”

“It’s broken.”

“No, it’s not broken, there you go. See?”

“Hey,” he said, flashing her a grin with no traces of suspicion. “You fixed it! I always say you can do anything.”

“Do you,” she muttered, once more rubbing at her temple as he crawled awkwardly into the front seat. She waited until he was safely inside before pushing his door closed. She strode around the front of the car and folded herself into her seat, reaching back to put the paper bag in the backseat.

“Livvie-Liv,” he said as she turned forward. He pressed a surprisingly gentle forefinger to the middle of her forehead, and she froze, caught completely off guard. He was leaning toward her, his face only a foot from hers, and his eyes were far too observant as he searched her gaze. “You got a headache?” he asked.

“It’s okay,” she said. He was too close, and his closeness was making it difficult for her to breathe normally. “Nothing some Tylenol, a little water, and half an hour won’t fix,” she managed. His finger was a soft pressure against the middle of her forehead.

“Poor Livvie-Liv,” he murmured, his mouth turning down in a sympathetic moue.

“Put your seatbelt on, please,” she said, letting out a small breath of relief when he pulled his hand back and turned away. He struggled to grab hold of his belt behind his shoulder. For a moment, she’d been afraid he was going to try to kiss her, and she was not equipped to deal with that at the moment.

She ignored the warm flutters in her stomach as she opened the bottle of medicine. She shook two pills into her palm, replaced the cap on the bottle and dropped it with a clatter into her middle console, and grabbed her water bottle. She swallowed the pills with a quick swig of tepid liquid, grimacing.

Barba had managed to pull the belt over himself and was jabbing the metal prong at the buckle. His tongue was trapped between his teeth as he tried in vain to line the two pieces up.

“Here, I’ve got it,” she said, covering his hand and locking the seatbelt together with a click.

“Ah, thanks,” he said with a sigh of relief. He watched her start the car. “I feel weird,” he told her.

She glanced at him. His face was flushed. “Are you going to be sick?”

He shook his head. “Did something happen to me? My thoughts are funny.”

“It’s just the anesthesia, it’ll be out of your system soon.” _Please_ , she thought. Barba could be quite annoying when he was in his right mind, but at least he _knew_ when he was pissing her off and she didn’t have to feel guilty about snapping at him.

“Is that why I’m not at work?” he asked.

“Do you remember what I told you?”

“I’m a feminist icon?”

“No, I mean today,” she said as she pulled into traffic.

“What day was that?”

“I don’t know, that’s not what I meant. Do you—”

“You didn’t mean it?”

“I meant it but that’s not what we’re talking about.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Do you remember what I said when you woke up?”

“In the morning?”

“In the hospital.”

“I don’t think you were there in the morning.”

“No, I—”

“I always wish you were but you never are.” She looked over at him, struck speechless by the offhand comment. He was looking at his fingers. “Have I always had this many?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, the word barely audible.

“Are my lips numb?”

“How should I know?”

He lifted his head to peer at her. “No, I mean _are_ they?”

She glanced at him as she turned the corner. “No. You’re fine.”

“Okay.”

She could feel him staring at her, searching her profile. She kept her eyes on the road, afraid to look at him, afraid to catch his gaze.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked after a minute.

“No,” she said too quickly.

“Oh.”

She winced and glanced at him again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just don’t want you to say anything you’ll be embarrassed about later.”

“Embarrassed?”

“Or...that you’ll regret saying. You’re not exactly in your regular state of mind, Rafael.”

“I’m not?”

“No.”

There was a long pause, and she chanced another brief look in his direction. He was staring out the windshield. “Maybe I’m in a _New York_ state of mind,” he said. A moment later he laughed, the sound bubbling out of him. “Get it?” he asked, nudging her arm with his knuckles. “Liv. Get it?”

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “Yes,” she said.

He spent the rest of the ride singing the first verse of “New York State of Mind” quietly, on a loop—apparently unable to remember the rest of the song.

She supposed the soft, repetitive singing should add to her annoyance, but she actually felt her mood improving. He was unoffended by her shortness, holding none of her snappiness or dirty looks against her, content to sit happily in the car singing the same few Billy Joel lyrics over and over.

And at least he’d been distracted from whatever secret he’d felt compelled to share.

“Hey!” he said suddenly, leaning forward. He winced as his seatbelt locked. He tugged absently at it a few times before giving up and pointing out the window. “I live here.”

“Yeah, silly, that’s why we’re here,” she said, grinning when he giggled.

“ _Silly_ ,” he repeated, laughing again. His eyes were sparkling when he looked at her, and his amusement was contagious. “Am I silly?”

“Well. Not usually.”

He apparently thought that answer was _hilarious_ , and after she’d parked her car she was helpless to do anything but laugh along with him for a minute. His laugh had a little hiccup in the middle that she’d only heard a few times over the years; he rarely laughed hard enough— _freely_ enough—for it to make an appearance.

“How long until I’m _usual_ again?” he asked.

She snorted in the middle of her laugh. “I have no idea,” she admitted, watching him cackle at the sound of her snort. “I didn’t think it would take this long. They must’ve given you some good stuff.”

“ _Good stuff_ ,” he giggled. He drew a breath. “You’re funny.”

“Yeah, I’m hilarious,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“How’d you do that?” he asked. He looked up at the ceiling.

“I learned it from you,” she said. “I have to put your window up.”

“Okay,” he said, turning his head to watch the glass slide upward.

She unlatched his seatbelt. “Wait there, I’ll come around to your door.” She grabbed her purse and climbed out of the car, opened the back door to fetch the ice cream bag, and walked around to his side. He was watching her through his window.

When she pulled the door open, he grinned and said, “Hi.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Hi,” she answered. “Come on, let’s go inside.” She took his arm to help him out. He swayed for a moment but stayed on his feet while she pushed his door closed. “Does your arm hurt?” she asked.

“Yep. Hey, Livvie-Liv, is that my ice cream?” he asked, reaching for the bag. She moved it out of his reach and he took a stumbling step forward.

She took hold of his shirt and turned him around. “After you’re inside,” she said.

“Ow, you made me dizzy.”

She laughed. “Sorry, but you were already dizzy, buddy.”

“You won’t let me fall.”

“No.”

“Except that one time I fell out the window.”

“That was your fault for not listening to me.”

“I have to pee.”

“Thanks for letting me know. Wait until we’re inside, please.”

“Okay. Can I tell you my secret?”

“No,” she said. “No secrets until you’re all clearheaded.”

“Then?”

“Then you’ll probably want to keep your secrets to yourself,” she said, refusing to look at him as they walked.

“I don’t think so,” he murmured before falling silent.

They didn’t speak again until she pulled her keys from her purse at his door.

“You have a key?” he asked.

She glanced at him. “You gave it to me,” she reminded him, unlocking his door.

“Good,” he said as she ushered him into his apartment. “You should have all my keys.” He reached a hand into his pocket.

“One is enough. Thank you,” she said, pushing the door closed.

“Ice cream?” he asked hopefully.

“You need to go to the bathroom—”

“I do?”

“—and then I’m going—”

“Oh, yeah.”

“—to clean the scrape on your arm.”

“Do I need help in the bathroom?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m not helping you,” she said. “If you can’t figure it out then you’ll just have to clean the mess up later.”

She watched him puzzling it through, and saw the moment he understood. She started laughing before he did, unable to stop herself as she saw his face crinkling in amusement. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle push toward the bathroom. He was already steadier on his feet, which was a good sign.

“Go,” she told him. “Don’t forget to wash your hands when you’re done,” she added, laughing at his hiccuppy giggle. “And take off your shirt, put it in the hamper.”

“Hamper is a funny word,” he said as he made his way toward the bathroom. “Hamper _. Hamper-hamper-hamper._ ” She watched him walk into the bathroom.

“Shut the door,” she called.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, turning back to push it closed.

“Jesus,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. She put the ice cream in his freezer and set her purse on the table. She glanced at the clock. She might need to ask Lucy to stay an extra hour, if Barba didn’t return to normal soon.

He came out of the bathroom a couple of minutes later in his undershirt.

“Is this a shirt?” he asked, plucking at it as he looked down at himself.

“You can leave that one on,” she said quickly. “I just need to get to your elbow.”

He turned his arm to look at the scrape. His motor skills were improving by the minute, now. She was glad, and could almost convince herself that there wasn’t a wiggle of disappointment in her stomach. It wasn’t as though she _wanted_ to take advantage of his lack of inhibitions.

“It hurts more, now,” he said.

“That’s because your head is getting clearer,” she answered. He watched her walk into the bathroom. She rooted around in his cabinet and found peroxide, gauze pads, and paper tape. She grabbed a clean washcloth and ran it under warm water, wringing out the excess liquid.

She turned to find him in the doorway, blocking her into the room, and her heart stuttered in her chest. He was staring at her, and the room suddenly felt small—too small. It wasn’t fear she was feeling, but she couldn’t allow herself to analyze the nervous flutters or the warmth creeping into her cheeks.

He stepped into the room, tipping his head a bit as he regarded her face. “Is your headache better?” he asked.

She had to clear her throat. “Yes. Thank you,” she answered. “Let’s get your arm—”

“Liv?”

“Yes?” she asked, swallowing as he moved closer.

“Have I been very annoying?”

She was surprised into a small laugh. “You mean more than usual?” she asked to cover to her nervousness.

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I don’t remember leaving the hospital,” he admitted. “Do I want to know what I said?”

She smiled, hoping he couldn’t see the strain in the curve of her lips. “Nothing unforgivable, don’t worry,” she said, patting his arm.

“I still feel...tingly.”

“You’re getting better, you’ll be yourself in a few minutes.”

“Are you sure my lips aren’t numb?”

“Close your eyes,” she said. She tried to tell herself there was a logical, responsible reason for her actions—to make sure he wasn’t having any adverse reactions to the medication.

His eyelids slipped closed. She watched his lashes flutter for a moment; she’d never noticed the blond, before. She lifted a hand and touched her fingertip to his lips; they parted at her touch, letting a soft breath escape.

“I guess you feel that,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” he said. She drew her hand back, but he didn’t immediately open his eyes. “I want to tell you my secret,” he breathed.

“Rafa,” she whispered. “I can’t let you—”

His eyes opened, and she fell silent as his gaze caught hers. “I’m feeling pretty clearheaded, suddenly,” he said. “And...I think you already know, anyway.”

She struggled to swallow for a moment.

He searched her face. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, taking a step backward. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, wait,” she said, stepping forward and touching his white t-shirt. “I just don’t want you to say something you’ll regret later.”

He reached up and wrapped his fingers around hers. “I’ve wanted to say it for a long time, Liv, I just wasn’t sure how. I was afraid I’d screw everything up. But now…”

“Now it’s the medication,” she said, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull her hand away.

He sighed, a soft, resigned sound. “I won’t say it, then, not if you don’t want me to.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “Anyway, like I said. I think you already know.”

“I didn’t say I...don’t want to hear it,” she muttered.

He leaned toward her, his fingers tightening around her hand. His gaze caught and held hers, and she couldn’t breathe. She thought he was going to kiss her, and she didn’t have the emotional strength to resist, even if it was to protect them both. His breath fanned her parted lips, but he turned his face. She felt the soft scrape of his stubble against her cheek, and then the warm tickle of his breath at her ear.

“Olivia.”

“Hmm,” she answered, closing her eyes as a small shiver passed through her.

“Mint chocolate chip is actually my favorite,” he murmured at her ear. Her eyes opened. “I buy the other kind because I know you like it.” His lips brushed her ear, and then her jaw. She held her breath. “You and Noah both like it.” His lips hovered near the corner of her mouth. “And I always hope you’ll want—”

“It’s his favorite,” she whispered. “I like the mint.”

She met his eyes. She could see the flecks of gold and brown in his, half-hidden beneath the flutter of his lashes. He touched his lips to the corner of her mouth and she turned her face, instinctively searching for his kiss.

His lips slid, light as a feather, over hers, but he drew back a fraction of an inch. “Liv,” he breathed.

“What.” She was fighting her frustration, now, and he knew it. She could tell by the way his cheek dimpled and the corner of his lips quirked.

“My shoulder and hip are really starting to hurt.”

“Shit, you’re lucky if you didn’t break something—” She started to draw back, afraid he was more seriously injured than she’d realized.

“I love you,” he said, and she froze, staring at him. He brushed his lips over hers again, the touch tentative as he waited for her response. He searched her eyes.

“That’s your big secret?” she managed after a moment. “I thought you were going to say you saw me hide the candy bar in my purse.”

He drew back. “There’s a _candy bar_ —”

She snaked her fingers into his hair and pulled his head forward. “Shut up.”

“Okay,” he agreed, covering her mouth with his.


End file.
